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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765526">Hoax</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsamyyall/pseuds/fakehxppy'>fakehxppy (itsamyyall)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, SO, idk what this is</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 22:34:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>636</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27765526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsamyyall/pseuds/fakehxppy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>don’t want no other shade of blue but you.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bo-Katan Kryze &amp; Orginal Female Character(s), Bo-Katan Kryze/Avlin Lissiri (Original Character), Bo-Katan Kryze/Female Character, Bo-Katan Kryze/Original Female Character</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Hoax</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>BEFORE THE CLONE WARS, the Veila were one of the most respected races in the Galaxy. </p><p>Sought after by those without hope, by those ravaged by fitful daydreams and restless days, the Veila existed merely as stories, whispered tales and promises of prosperity, of happiness and wealth. It was a heavy burden to bear on the shoulders of a people they've never even met. An odd idealistic notion to place on a planet scarcely open to strangers, lifted by stories told to children at night. </p><p>Hailing from the tiny planet of Veelaris in the Outer Rim, swathed in crystal seas and sandstone cities, the Veila were all of those things - at least, all of those things, on the surface. The planet and its people bathed in beauty, life continuing on in peace, tucked away from the strife of the universe. </p><p>Until the Clone Wars raged too close to home and that ever-sacred, ever-present peace shattered into fragments all around them. A shattered mirror reflecting back once-perfect visions of serenity.</p><p>The Veila were one of the most respected races in the Galaxy, until the King allied with Death Watch. </p><p>For protection. </p><p>Avlin Lissiri had lived her life in luxury, like the rest. Bathed in satin and silks, basking in golden sunlight and the honeysuckle breeze. She knew of privilege and luck, of never having to want for anything. Of growing up surrounded by everything she could ever wish for. </p><p>Born of nobility, taken as a Lady-In-Waiting to the Queen of Veelaris; a personal bodyguard trained in protection, the threat of war reached out to her, boney fingers in the darkness, jagged teeth bright beneath a starless sky. Sleepless nights drenched in fear — bathed in silken sheets and lamplight, safe behind guards and a thousand locked doors — war knocked at her door, calling to her. Taunting her. Wanting her. </p><p>At night she pours her heart out to her pillow, silent cries of terror and broken longing for a better world. By day, she's stoic, commanding and regal, burning gaze fixed on danger. </p><p>Avlin never minded the violence. It was an uncomfortable necessity she's grown accustomed to over the years; she's damn good at it, the fighting, at defending the Queen against persistent attacks. It was her job - a job she'd willingly taken - the burden of combat burned into her bones since she was sixteen. That girl, once young and gentle and innocent, catching fireflies by the ocean, stripped raw by brutality. She watched herself change in the mirror, seen all her angles sharpen. </p><p>She'd welcomed it. Wanted it. Enjoyed it. </p><p>She'd sat and counted every single scar in the mirror; the mark of a madman, the bite of a blade, they all told a story, stoic and silver against her skin. She'd grinned as her mouth filled with blood, metallic and crimson against the perfect white of her teeth, the result of an assassin and a wayward fist. She'd savoured the rush, the thick weight of anticipation. </p><p>But the one thing she couldn't stomach, the one thing that stuttered the beating of her calloused heart, was death. Losing someone, anyone at all, it beat her down. It turned her blood to ice and paralysed her. No matter how many times death struck her - friends, strangers, young old - it killed her every time. But the thing about war is that it is unrelenting, unrepentant and vicious; it stole people away like a thief in the night, one-by-one, day-by-day.</p><p>Comfort came in the form of a Mandalorian; a contradiction, to find solace from death in another so easily lost. A Mandalorian, with all the strength and danger of a raging fire, carved from war and a thousand forms of destruction. A Mandalorian with the fire-red hair, stoic and smirking, lighting up the approaching darkness like a beacon calling her home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>BO-KATAN IS MY FUCKING WIFE</p></blockquote></div></div>
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